Tag Archives: male

Crotchety

Crotchety: (adj) given to odd notions, whims, grouchiness, etc.

There are three words that seem to travel together. Buddies, if you will.

I don’t think you can see “crochety” without the word “old” hanging around, accompanied in the back seat by the word “man.”

Crochety old man.

Women aren’t crochety—women are bitchy.

Men, on the other hand, get a “cushioney” word, perhaps pulled out of a hat owned by Charles Dickens: “’Tis crochety, old boy.”

Also, men are old. Women, on the other hand, are decrepit.

At least with the word “old” you have the possibility of “wisdom” traveling alongside. But decrepit immediately conjures a vision of an old witch with a fondness for dining on the carcasses of little children.

The gentleman in the story gets the advantage of maintaining the word “man” to describe him, while the woman would be a hag.

So if you have a penis, you get to be a “crochety old man.”

Absent that appendage, you are a “bitchy, decrepit hag.”

After all, what does it mean to be crochety? It means that nothing is going your way anymore because your way is so old it’s covered with dust.

What can one do to age and still be a person who isn’t crochety?

I think there is a three-step process, whether you’re male or female:

  1. Shut up.

No one wants to hear all your stories.

  1. Listen.

And as you do, learn some of the lingo so you don’t talk like you came out of a 1970’s movie.

  1. Think funny things, think serious things—share the funny ones.

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Crone

Crone: (n) a withered, witchlike old woman.

An obsession with attributing certain characteristics to either the male or the female is one of the surest ways to showcase misogyny.

It’s not bad enough that we believe that women like gardening and nurturing things, whereas men are hunters and gatherers. The fact that there are thousands—perhaps millions—of examples to the contrary does not seem to deter people from “genderizing” activities.

For instance, for years hurricanes were designated by only using women’s names because “they’re so unpredictable.”

Of course, we grew out of this because we know that men are just as unpredictable as women.

But when it comes to the word “crone,” we are pretty sure that such a disfigured, frustrated, bitchy and aggravated person could only have breasts and a vagina.

Fascinating, huh?

After all, we’ve never seen old men who are nasty, backbiting gossipers, who can’t find a good word to say about anything.

Although Charles Dickens did give us that great crone with Ebenezer Scrooge.

Do you think it would have been even more popular if it had been Abigail Scrooge?

Then we could have eased the common misconception of the masses—that vitriol is normally passed along by the chicks.

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Crier and Cried

funny wisdom on words that begin with a C

Crier or cried: (v) one who cries or past tense of cry

It is at the core of the gender wars.

Historically, if not mythically, the contention is that women cry and men endure.

This crying is interpreted as weakness.

So a man may be willing to admit that he has cried—but would resent the hell out of being identified as a crier. On the other hand, females make no bones about the fact that they cried and are not nearly as put out with being referred to as a crier.

It creates the unrighteous and inequitable standard that those who shed tears may be sensitive, but that carrying such a profile is dangerous in a world where toughness is extoled as power. However, here is a fact that’s important to know:

Great men throughout history not only cried but were known to be criers.

From Jesus Christ to Abraham Lincoln you have examples of human males who were susceptible to tears because their hearts could be broken at the sight of pain, and the anger that might flush their feelings and cause mourning.

Let us not forget, at the end of every football game, one team departs cheering, and the other cries—or certainly has members who are criers.

I have cried.

I am willing to admit that I’m a crier.

I am a voice crying in the present wilderness.

My proclamations, though often filled with humor and wit, are saturated with tears of misgiving and sadness.

If you haven’t cried, you haven’t felt.

And if you aren’t a crier, you rob yourself of being known as a person with a depth of feeling.

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Closet

Closet: (n) a  wardrobe, especially one tall enough to walk into.

Coming out of the closet has become synonymous with revealing one’s sexual preference. Yet an earlier mention of the closet was offered by Jesus: a location for prayer.

He was concerned that people would pray in public to be heard, using flowery words and long sentences to make themselves appear
spiritual.

Jesus recommended a closet.

So when coming out of that closet after prayer, the power of the experience should be the energy offered and the optimism initiated. It was to be a place of reflection, empowerment, personal humility and discovery.

Much has been achieved by encouraging humans to come out of the closet, offering revelations on their personal status. No doubt about that.

But we are human. Ultimately our main concern is not whether someone is gay or straight, or whether they pray or not, but instead, if they’re going to be cooperative. It’s not the status of male or female, but instead, an evaluation on how well they are able to evolve. Also, it’s not if they are Christian, Muslim, Hindu or Jew, but rather, a determination about the comprehension on how Planet Earth really works.

So to some degree, we all need to come out of the closet–after a sweet time of contemplation, consideration and prayer.

And hopefully, when we do come from the closet, we will arrive to promote acceptance and unity with those around us.

If we do, then our time in the closet was well-spent.

If we don’t, we feed the suspicion in others that our choices are selfish and rude.

 

 

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Bulky

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Bulky: (adj) taking up much space

Very simply explained, if I can’t lift it or move it, then it’s bulky. Because I work under the premise that if I can getDictionary B my arms around it or my hands beneath it, there is nothing I can’t lift.

As I’ve gotten older, I have tried to overcome that little piece of macho, but somehow or another, I still feel it is my duty, as a male Homo sapien, to impress all the people around me–especially the females–with my physical prowess.

And by the way, that goes for opening jars, too. Fortunately, that particular duty is pretty simple. But every once in a while, you get one which has apparently been glued on. Then I get very nervous. I don’t want some other male god-figure to sweep in, pick up the jar and open it after I have failed to do so.

Then I would feel I should be taken to the Yukon North, placed on an iceberg and pushed out to sea to await my inevitable death.

Yes, it doesn’t matter how much sophistication we possess–sometimes, if we’re men, we hope something ends up being bulky so we can impress by moving it.

And I guess women occasionally pretend something is bulky–so men will have a reason to brag.

 

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Boy

j-r-practix-with-border-2Boy: (n) a male child or young man.

The ultrasound.

It’s when the doctor or nurse tells the parents whether they’re going to have a boy or a girl.

How is it determined?

The boy has a penis, the girl doesn’t.

It is an effective way of confirming sexuality before birth.Dictionary B

Yet it is a terrible way of illuminating humanity after birth.

For you see, we begin to do additional ultrasounds on our children throughout their upbringing.

  • Are they playing with the right toys?
  • Are the young men rough and tumble and the girls feminine and meek?
  • Are they crossing lines which connote there may be some ambiguity?

We silently push all of our children toward sexual stereotypes instead of trying to allow them to become human beings.

It is my contention that the penis and the vagina will find each other without us turning it into a cultural mandate.

What we should be doing is teaching our children how to be human.

We should be sharing the beauty of cooperation and the power of respect.

We should stop being afraid of blurring the lines between the male and female, and realize that the wall we’ve built betwixt them is the atrocity.

I was born a boy.

I struggled with my manhood, and now, by the grace of God… I am discovering my humanity.

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Both

Both: (pron) two identified together

There is only one natural enemy of humankind.Dictionary B

It is called apathy.

Whenever it arrives, good becomes a little less glistening, and bad is viewed as too normal.

So we need both:

  • We need both believer and atheist
  • Republican and Democrat
  • Business and consumer
  • Rich and poor
  • Freedom and oppression
  • Give and take
  • Male and female

And as we look at each one of these possibilities, it is contingent upon our intellect and awareness to realize that truth lies in the midst of the disarray.

It would be wonderful if virtue would light up so we could follow it, or if evil smelled like farts. But it’s not that simple, is it? No–it takes our full concentration, attention, passion and involvement to make sure that we are at least attempting to find the common good.

In doing so, we defeat apathy.

Because if we don’t, it will destroy us.

 

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Bloke

Bloke: (n) a man; a fellow.

Dictionary B

There is an unwritten rule of writing. (That sounds like an oxymoron.)

What I’m saying is that normally in the process of writing five hundred words, you try not to repeat any word more than once (which I just did).

So if for some reason, your story is talking about a fellow, or some guy, and you decide not to give this gentleman a name, then you are forced to come up with a series of words which represent a male.

It’s what I call “Roget Writing”–when you look up different ideas for the same thing in the thesaurus, in order to appear clever.

It is not only difficult and clumsy, but can become quite comical–because after you’ve used, “man, guy, fellow, chap, and dude,” you start considering inserting the word “bloke.”

Even though the person is not from “Down Under,” you take the risk anyway.

It’s one of those things that makes you look like an amateur, when the better solution is to give your character a name so you don’t have to keep describing him using as many macho representations as available.

 

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Beefcake

Beefcake: (n) an attractive man with well-developed muscles.Dictionary B

On those rare occasions when I find myself naked, I always avert my eyes from looking in the mirror.

Matter of fact, I’m a little reluctant to share that thought, because there are individuals who would consider my decision to not view my body as a negative or a sign of insecurity.

Honestly, I just find it smart.

There are only two things that can happen when you look in the mirror: some form of disgust, or an intruding pride.

In both cases, there is little benefit.

If I think I’m ugly, confirming that by my reflection is not helpful to the self-confidence required for me to survive a normal day.

Then again, if I peer into the mirror and believe myself to be beautiful–a beefcake–then an obnoxious pride will make me ill-suited to interact with those who may not completely agree with my assessment.

I also have known many women over the years, and will tell you that they are the most gentle, forgiving and open-minded beings on Earth concerning the physical weaknesses of the men who have come into their space. I suppose there are ladies who want to peer at men’s bodies with a lascivious leer, but women often close their eyes, allowing their imaginations to fill in the blanks to stimulate adequate lust for a great sexual encounter.

I am not a beefcake.

I am not willing to do what is necessary to become a beefcake.

So I am looking for friends and women … who have a sweet tooth for a cream puff.

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Beard

Beard: (n) a growth of hair on the chin and lower cheeks of a man’s face.Dictionary B

Call it an oversimplification, but I believe the three stages in the life of a man can be summed up as follows:

  1. Birth
  2. Arrogance
  3. Disproven.

The key to success in human life, wearing a male body, is to arrive at “disproven” with a sense of humor instead of disappointment.

So it was well after my birth, in my season of arrogance, that I decided I wanted to grow a beard. For the life of me I cannot remember what stimulated this notion, but understanding my mindset in that season, it had something to do with being sexy. Because being sexy in the arrogant period of macho life is Number 1 on the Top 5 of important goals.

Of course, you know the problem.

Each one of us is issued a body filled with genetic mishaps, and within that body are limitations. As it turned out, one of mine was the ability to grow a decent beard.

I should have suspected this since I don’t really need to shave every day and only do so to keep up with the “Bill Joneses.”

So since I don’t need to shave all the time, it’s highly unlikely that my face is going to suddenly sprout a bush.

And it didn’t.

It grew in various portions of acreage, leaving other areas deserted.

I was unable to grow any hair on my cheeks, so my beard made me look like I was trying to become a Jew instead of a gigolo.

I persisted.

I used eyebrow pencil to fill it in for a long time, before finally one day I looked in the mirror and pitied my poor efforts.

As it turns out, I can grow a mustache and a soul patch.

I call it a beard. This shall satisfy my need for arrogance as I continue on in my understanding of being disproven.

 

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